Last month, when I took a trip to the doctor’s office for a pelvic exam, I chose to document the experience through an Instagram story. As a feminist and a sex educator, I figure it’s my duty to de-stigmatize such banal (yet sometimes terrible) routines as Pap smears and STI testing. And what better way to do that than to feature a picture of my feet in stirrups and a doctor’s head between my legs prominently on social media? Truth be told, considering most of my friends and followers share my interests and politics, I didn’t think this story would be revolutionary. I’m far from the first person to record such an event. But then something I didn’t expect happened: a flurry of OMGs and thank-yous flooding my inbox.

Not because I was proudly discussing sexual health, but because I had caught on camera the moment that I asked the nurse not to weigh me. “It has never occurred to me that I could request not to be weighed,” internet stranger after internet stranger told me. “Being weighed at the doctor is so triggering to my food and body issues!”

I had no idea the simple fact that you still have bodily autonomy—even when in a doctor’s office—would be so mind-blowing to people. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. People, especially those who are marginalized, are taught to respect authority, no questions asked. And if you are, for example, a woman—especially a woman of size—then you are living with a legacy of bodies like yours having been mistreated by the medical field for generations. It’s hard to say “no” when you’ve been socialized under oppression to be pleasant. It’s harder when you’re pushing back against an institution. But doing so is possible, and for me, it's been a helpful way to look after my mental health.

I started refusing to be weighed at the doctor’s office five years ago.

Before that, for years, I would allow them to weigh me and keep the number to themselves. But one day, I took a trip to my general practitioner because I felt a relapse coming on, and I needed resources for controlling it. See, in 2008, I was diagnosed with an eating disorder—atypical anorexia, meaning that I had all the symptoms of anorexia but my weight wasn’t below a normal range. And while I’m mostly recovered most of the time, a particularly difficult bout of stress or anxiety can send me right back to skipping meals and obsessively squeezing the practically non-existent excess fat on my body.

At the time of this appointment, I had just started graduate school and moved to a new city, and I felt the temptation to restrict coming on strong. That day, despite the fact that my papers must have stated that I was in to discuss my eating disorder history, the nurse told me my weight. I’d made a big to-do about not looking at the scale as she weighed me, and yet, when we got into the examination room, for no reason whatsoever, she announced the number. I promptly burst into tears.

Since then, I’ve chosen to avoid the experience altogether. Very simply, as I’m being guided to a scale, I ask, “Could I not be weighed today, please?” Most of the time, my request is met without a problem. Sometimes, because medical personnel are so used to acting within guidelines and protocols, I receive pushback. I understand that. There are plenty of reasons why knowing a person’s weight can be useful, but usually, an exact number isn’t necessary. At those moments, I try to meet them halfway: “I can estimate how much I weigh for your records,” I tell them, or “I haven’t gained or lost a significant amount of weight recently.”

If they push me even further, I can explain that because of my eating disorder history, knowing my exact weight can start a downward spiral that’s detrimental to my physical and mental health. In my experience, these tactics have always been enough.

The thing is, I'm a thin person, and there's privilege that comes along with that. This can make it easier for me to push back on getting weighed than it might be for people of size.

There is undue respect for thin bodies in our culture, so the scale isn’t forced on me. My body, at first glance, isn’t inherently seen as a problem to be solved. But for people of size, requesting not to be weighed will likely be met with far more derision and suspicion.

Of course, if you're one of these folks, you can also try the strategies listed above. But unfortunately, depending on your medical care provider, it may not be enough. There are other potential solutions, like calling or e-mailing ahead of time to have a note added to your file that you request not to be weighed. And if you’re comfortable being weighed, but just don’t want to know the number, ask to step on the scale backward and not be made aware of the result. Or you could try to find a fat-positive doctor who uses Health at Every Size practices, meaning they embrace size diversity and body positivity. Depending on your location, the Association for Size Diversity and Health expert search feature may be able to help you find options.

At the end of the day, we all deserve culturally competent care that takes into consideration the intersection of identities and experiences at which we exist. And while weight can play a role in a complete understanding of your health, it can also be used to guilt, shame, and embarrass you. Or, for people like me, it can inadvertently trigger a dangerous cycle. None of those things promotes wellness. And we all deserve to feel better when we leave the doctor, not worse.

Melissa A. Fabello is a feminist writer and speaker who covers issues related to body politics and beauty culture. She is a doctoral candidate in Widener University’s Human Sexuality Studies program, where her research looks at how women with anorexia nervosa make meaning of their experiences with sensuality. Learn more about her work on her website, and follow her on Twitter and Instagram @fyeahmfabello.